


Seeing Memories

by Diary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Asexual Astoria Greengrass, Asexual Character, Auror Harry Potter, Awkward Conversations, Bechdel Test Pass, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Male Character, Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Character, Changing Tenses, Draco Malfoy-centric, Family, Friendship/Love, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom Didn't Last, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Longbottom-Lovegood Family, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Multi, One-Sided Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, POV Bisexual Character, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Second Person, Post Hogwarts AU, Post-Deathly Hallows AU, Relationship Negotiation, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repost. Draco Malfoy after the war. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter.

Lately, you've been seeing something akin to ghosts.

Perhaps, vivid memories are the more accurate description, but they're so haunting in their ability to project outside of your head and onto the landscape, ghosts really does seem the best possible descriptor.

00

It started after the battle.

You were being held in the Great Hall. Mother and Father were talking, and you'd looked around and seen Finnigan and Thomas, although, the former would have unrecognisable if not for his accent. They were sitting with Aberforth Dumbledore and downing amber-coloured liquor.

Suddenly, in their place, you saw two little boys. Finnigan didn't have his tie, and he was missing his eyebrows. Next to him, Thomas was showing him a piece of paper. There was giggling, and then, the voice of the Irish man rather than the eyebrow-less boy demanded, “What're you looking at, Malfoy?”

“Nothing,” you'd drawled.

0

The next time it'd happened, you were sitting in one of the gardens and watching a stray cat who'd manage to get in. It was hissing at one of the stupid, proudly preening peacocks.

Every time the peacock started to leave its place atop the gate to come down, you'd flick your wand and create a temporary invisible wall.

Then, the dirty Siamese cat was replaced with a clean, black one with dark green eyes in the lap of a twelve-year-old Millicent Bulstrode. Sitting stiffly on a common room couch, she was almost as tall as most of the second-year boys, and her bunches hairstyle didn't work well with her heavy face and sharp, thick body.

Blaise Zabini suddenly appeared in a nightgown and banished an ink-stained paper in her face.

“Draco,” Mother said, and the memory vanished, “when did this beast get in?”

“I don't know,” you answered. “It's not hurting anything.”

You looked away when she killed it and vanished the body.

0

Dobby was the next manifestation.

You were sitting in the shadows and watching people passing by in Diagon Alley. At the manor, Father was busy ranting about Potter, mudbloods, and everything else wrong with the world while Mother was out trying to rebuild the family's social status.

You couldn't help but feel profound anger at both.

A tiny elf of ambigious gender with a distinct cut on its cheek came into view and struggled under the weight of several heavy packages.

Dobby was suddenly in the elf's place and wincing as he ironed his hands while silent tears streamed down his face. You couldn't see yourself, but you could hear the gleeful laughter of a younger you watching.

The sound of crashing packages broke the scene, and you watched a child smack the distressed elf while screaming at the tiny scrape across her knee.

0

Pansy sent you an owl, and you watched your bedroom be replaced by pink one with posters of galloping unicorns on the wall.

She was about thirteen or fourteen, dressed in footy pyjamas, and she was trying her best to unlock the goblin locks on her window. Her hair was frizzy, and she wore randomly changing nail polish.

The owl hooting broke you out of the memory, and you read the letter.

Her family was doing well in France, and she'd found a job as cashier in a broom-shop. She'd send you a new dessert she'd discovered as soon as enough money was saved up for the postage.

You wrote her a letter telling her to find a rich wizard to marry.

She was the closest thing to a legitimate friend you had, but you and her were never destined to be some epic love story.

0

Luna Lovegood came over a month before her school year started.

There was always a legitimacy to her being called 'Loony', but you still couldn't help but feel utter shock when you opened the door to find her standing outside. She was wearing gray trousers, a rather large brown t-shirt with several bear prints on it, and fuzzy red house-slippers with her hair in a puffy bun.

“What is that around your neck,” was your first question.

She touched the one of the bizarre looking things hanging from her necklace chain and answered with nonchalant airiness, “Morinda citrifolia. It's mostly found in Asian countries. One of it's most beneficial-”

“Never mind,” you snapped. “What in the hell are you doing here, Lovegood?”

“I was wondering if you still had my astronomy textbook,” she answered. “If so, may I have it back?”

You knew people used to steal and hide her stuff, but you'd never been near enough to her possessions to be one of the perpetrators. “I've never seen your book.”

“When the Snatchers took me,” she reminded you. “They also brought my bookbag, and you went through it.”

For a long moment, you stared at her.

She was kidnapped, tortured, taunted, and locked away from everyone and everything. Yet, there she stood in front of you without blinking or showing any particular emotion. A normal person would- normal people had, in fact- tried to hex you, spewed profanities, and physically attacked.

It seemed all she wanted was a textbook back. She hadn’t even mentioned the bookbag and its other contents.

You suppose this is why you found yourself stepping aside even while the rational part of your brain reminded you she could be a good actress and would unleash vengeance once the door was closed.

No such thing happened.

It took time, but you found the bag and its contents.

“Thank you,” she said with a vague smile.

“Show yourself out,” you said.

You'd never been one for apologising, and even if you were, participating in the kidnapping and torture of a person really wasn't the sort of thing an apology could wipe away, you knew, especially when what you had done to said loved ones was factored in.

In one of the gardens, you found one of the peacocks rolling in a patch of flowers.

Neville Longbottom replaced it. This version of him was a round boy with a sun-red face whose tongue sticking out while he worked by himself in one of the school greenhouses. Nearby, his toad hopped back and forth.

“What do you see?”

Jumping, you looked up.

Lovegood was staring eerily at you.

After a moment, she explained, “You were seeing a memory. Neville does, too. What is it?”

“Your boyfriend,” you answered. “What do you mean: he sees memories?”

“He describes it as somewhat akin to seeing ghostly replaying of events and people during younger stages in their lives.” She sat down. “It happens outside of his head.” 

Honestly meaning no insult towards Longbottom, you doubted he described it using those words.

“Yours make you sad,” she noted.

“His doesn't?”

“Sometimes,” she answered. “Sometimes, they bring him happiness and strength.”

You scoffed. “Good for him.”

The peacock came over, and she petted it. “Perhaps, you should talk to him.”

“I'd rather die.”

“That's not true.” She stood. 

On a whim, you asked, “What's it like to be in love?”

There was a noticeable pause on her part. “That's a good question.”

“What, you and Longbottom don't have the wedding and the bizarre children's names already planned and picked out?”

“It's only a summer fling.”

Laughing, you wondered what hope there was for anyone if even outlandish, fearless Luna Lovegood became a stupid coward when it came to romance. “I couldn't care less about your love life, Loony, but don't insult my intelligence. You're wearing his shirt, and you know about that odd thing around your neck because he told you. More than that, I've seen the two of you together, and I remember those months when you were held here. Your father, the dream team, Ginny Weasley, and Longbottom, I saw your expressions when each was mentioned. You were already half in love with him.”

“Sometimes, it's best for the heart to cling to one reality while soundly ignoring another,” she answered.

0

“Malfoy!”

The sound caused you to knock over your inkwell, and you quickly left your room.

Mother was pointing a wand at Neville Longbottom. He looked beyond exasperated but completely untainted by fear. You supposed killing a familiar of the greatest Dark Lord in history could do such to a man. “Malfoy,” he greeted. “Luna asked me to talk to you.”

“I'll be back soon.” You moved past your mother to reach out and apparate with Longbottom before she could stop you.

In the Leaky Cauldron, you both found a secluded corner and sat.

He finally said, “Look, I don't know what to say.”

“Loony tells you to do something, and you jump.”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” he said with no real heat. “My girlfriend asked me to do this. If it were up to me, you and your family would have a life sentence in Azkaban. But.”

He shrugged.

“The relationship won't last.”

Scoffing, he leaned back. “This isn't Hogwarts, Malfoy. I know who I am, and I know my place in life. You always said what everyone already thought but was too nice to say. And most of the time you and them were right. Luna already has one foot out the door.”

“Then, why are you here?”

“Because I'm mad for her, and yeah, usually all she has to do is tell me to do something, and I'll do it. She asked me to talk to you because she's convinced I can help you.”

You looked over at him. “How you make them stop?”

“I don't know,” he answered. “I've never tried.”

“They don't bother you?”

“Remembering certain things, certain people, hurts,” he answered. “There's a lot of them I love, though.”

You didn't understand. Most of them weren't painful, but seeing them was surreal and made you fear you might be going mad. “Can you control them?”

He looked as if he'd never particularly considered it. “I suppose, in a way. Look, Malfoy, I've been able to see memories since I was a tot. I can't remember a time I couldn't. It's normal for me.”

“And yet, ironically, you were always so forgetful.”

“There were times I was completely annoyed,” he replied. “I could see a little girl I saw when I was five, never even knew her name, crystal clear, hear her voice, watch her dripping ice lollies all over her dress, but I couldn't remember something I'd read five minutes before. I can usually call up a memory of someone or certain events whenever I want. Other times, they just come, and I don't know why. I suppose closing your eyes might help.”

“I feel like I'm going mad,” you said.

This caused an unpleasant sound from him. “Thanks to your aunt, I look at madness every Sunday. You and I aren't anywhere close to it.”

He got up and walked away.

In his place, you saw a round man covered in blood and dirt with a sword in hand smile like an absolute fool at a dotty woman with wild hair. The woman was practically glowing when she gave a soft smile back.

You closed your eyes, and when you reopened them, the almost physical representation was gone.

0

“No,” you said.

“Draco, this is important,” Mother said. “If we can-”

However, Father had none of her patience. “Draco, you must stop lazying about. I'm aware you not being able to immediately join the ministry is out of our control, but rebuilding the name, re-establishing our power, isn't. Frankly, we all should have started sooner. You will be Minister of Magic, one day.”

“That plan is dead,” you snapped. “I plotted to kill one of the greatest wizards in history. Besides that, I don't care about this world you and Mother are so keen to see, anymore. Who gives a toss if mudbloods run wild?”

In the Room of Requirement, two purebloods tried to kill you, one pureblood would have left the room due to deeming your life unworthy, and a half-blood saved you. Some part of you would always suspect the half-blood might have left you to die if not for the shrill voice of a lecturing mudblood ringing through his head about equality regardless of blood and being the better person and how a person treated their enemy said more than how they treated the innocents.

You weren't suddenly a champion of- well, anything. You still had reservations about throwing someone with strong loyalties to muggles into the wizard world, and you still believed magic was a precious thing; those who had it were above those without.    

“How dare you-”

“Lucius,” Mother said. “Leave. I will talk to our son.”

“Narcissa-”

“This,” your mother said in a voice so cold it even made you so uneasy, “is your fault. If I can help it, I will never let you bring our family, our child, so low again. Now, leave.”

Once he had, she immediately pulled you into a hug.

You squirmed, and she let go and gave you a sad smile. “My heart, listen. If you want to bond to a half-blood or muggle-born-”

“No,” you interrupted. “This isn't a new commitment of loyalty, Mother. I just don't care about blood purity anymore.”

“I disagree,” she replied. “But as I was going to say, whoever you chose to form relationships with, whether I agree or not, you will always be my son. I'll never turn my back on you, Draco.”

“I don't want to go to the party.”

“Wedding, dear,” she corrected. “Darling, put your father's plans for the ministry out of your head. The fact is: Our fortune is greatly depleted, and eventually, he and I will die. As long as I live, I'll never see you homeless or hungry. But how will you take care of yourself when we're gone? Your father and I can't turn public perception without your help. Without that on our side, on your side, you'll never be able to get a respectable, well-paying job.”

You sighed.

Leaning over, she kissed you. “You can have a glass of champagne,” she promised. “And as soon as it's acceptable, we can leave.”

“I'll change into my robes.”

Once you had, you looked into the mirror, and behind you, one of the Hogwarts dungeons replaced your room. Snape was brewing a potion, and he looked up and straight into your eyes.

“Thank you.” 

Blinking, you saw yourself looking into your own present eyes.

0

Inevitably, you ran into Harry Potter.

You didn't even need the ghostly memories. You'd always been able to see him clearly.

A little boy in a robe shop was clear in your head. He was one of the most interesting boys you'd ever seen, and your babbling and trying your best to find the words to make him like you and deepen the conversation refused to leave your memory.

There’s so many more moments: A little boy chasing after you on broom in defence of his little friend (you’d thought yourself so much better, but give him a sword and a familiar to kill, and everyone would see differently). A twelve-year-old glaring at you after he left the hospital wing from seeing his petrified friend (you had honestly she thought would end up marrying him). A sixteen-year-old man responsible for putting your father in jail, and all the questions you had to inwardly struggle with, because loyalty and ideals or not, assignment with little to no forgiveness for failure or not, he'd always proven himself to be on the right side of things. Clinging to this boy, this man, to Harry Potter when he flew out of a burning room. 

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.” You saw Ginny Weasley dancing with Longbottom while Ron Weasley and Granger danced together. “Where’s Loony? Out talking to some poor sod about Fudge's anti-goblin policies?”

You knew Fudge, and whatever his faults, terrorising goblins was never one of them. The man bent over backwards to try to keep those creatures pacified. He and Father even debated goblins owning wands, and while Fudge never quite came out to say it, he subtly made it clear he thought the idea had real merit.

“She's not here,” was his short reply.

“Ah.” You found yourself laughing. “Broke up with Longbottom, did she? Well,” you said while taking a sip of whatever alcoholic beverage you had in hand, “it might take 'til they're old and incontinent, but the fools will eventually come to their senses.”

He looked at you strangely. “I'd've thought you'd be talking rubbish about blood purity by now.”

“Things change, Potter. Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours and your pathetic friends.”

“I'll stay out of your way as long as you and your family don't cause trouble.”

“No,” you insisted. “Stay out of my way. Whatever my father does, that's his business. The same goes for my mother, although, I won't see her insulted. Leave me alone, and I'll leave you and yours alone.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “But if they cause problems, I will be there.”

“I wouldn't expect anything else.” You caught a glint of light from Ginny Weasley's left ring finger. In her place, you saw a tiny redhead holding a cauldron almost too big for her and saw your father slip two books into it. You'd seen him take one out, but you'd just assumed you hadn't really been paying attention at one point or the other.

It hadn't particularly mattered to your twelve-year-old self how many books Weasley had in her too big cauldron.

Blinking the memory away, you left.

0

Theodore Nott appeared when you were eating lunch in the ministry's cafeteria. Father had managed to bully someone into giving you a job. You were assistant to a self-important witch by the name of Catalina Tolansky.      

She was a middle-aged muggle-born who had managed to get a job created for herself. The story goes she came in one day to contest a traffic ticket, discovered how abysmally unclaimed pensieves were treated, and promptly went out to buy an endless notebook and self-inking quill. She came back and began discovering what they contained and labelling them.

She’d found an unused janitor's closet, cleaned it, and stored them in there. Every day, she came back and researched the owners of the memories. When she was able to find one or their family, she'd go to the post office and send an owl.  

This went on for several months until anyone realised what she was doing. There was talk of criminal charges, worry about security leaks, and bewilderment all around, but Fudge had been charmed and offered head of the newly created pensieve department. When Scirmgeour was killed, she fled, although, you suspected someone who could see all the signs of what was about to happen had forced her to.

After the war, she came back, and Kingsley gave her control of the department back.

Personally, you weren't impressed. She was more of a glorified assistant than an actual Head. All she did was do the work no one else would do.

Moreover, she was an unpleasant person to be around.

The janitor's closet was kept at an unreasonably warm temperature due to her insistence, the lighting was horrible, and she had a tendency of clicking her tongue whenever you walked wrong (no, she couldn't explain how you walking normally was disturbing the penseives, but it was), used cursive (her adoration of print was somewhat legendary), and said anything she disliked (the question 'Where do I put my umbrella?' was apparently a threat to vandalise the penseives with said umbrella).

Father and Mother both talked about you moving up in a year or two, and so, you didn't complain. You discretely employed cooling and lighting charms, made sure you wrote in print with sparkly lime-green ink, and tried your best not to have to say anything. In return, she spent most of her time with her head stuck in a penseive and the rest sending out pompous memos about how everyone else was interrupting her important work.

You weren't unaware of the strangeness of working with memories when you had recently developed the ability to do the same thing many people used penseives for.

“Malfoy.”

Looking up, you saw him dressed in a three-piece muggle suit. He'd finally filled-out a bit and no longer looked perpetually sick. “Nott. What are you doing here?”

“Turning the house-elves over to Granger,” he answered. “The muggles are calling me a financial wizard,” he said with a smirk at the obvious irony. “I've been offered a job in America.”

“You've always had a skill for numbers,” you said.

“I'm glad my father's dead,” he replied.

You had no idea how to react.

“I pity muggles and squibs, but I've never bought into blood purity. Now, I can be the man I always knew I was supposed to be.”

Knowing the rumours of his mother’s death, you inquired, “He killed her, then?”

Nott cocked his head. “He found her sticking a knife into my throat. He disarmed her, and a fight broke out. I don't know which of the three was responsible.”

“Heard from Bulstrode and Zabini,” you asked.

“Bulstrode's still in Bulgaria,” he answered. “As for Zabini, I've heard rumours he'd travelling. I suspect he'll eventually end up there.”

In reference to the dead Nott senior, you asked, “Did you kill him?”

He simply smiled. “Have a good life, Malfoy.”

You saw a memory of Nott in fourth year with his tie undone. He was lying on one of the common room couches and petting Bulstrode’s cat while watching the couples leave for the Yule Ball.

0

There was picture of Longbottom and Hannah Abbott in the Daily Prophet with an engagement announcement below.

Looking up from it, you saw a little, round, blonde-haired girl with her hair in pigtails and a Hufflepuff crest on her robes walking between two little boys. One was blond, and the other was brown-haired and curly. She had a smudge of something purple on her face, and the boys were carrying their books and hers.

Old habits died hard, and you sent the new family owl to find Lovegood and deliver a copy.

0

“Honestly, Minister,” you heard Catalina say, “I have a meeting with a goblin in thirty minutes.”

“I'm dreadfully sorry to bother you, Madam Tolansky,” he said. “I was wondering, however, if we could talk about Mister Malfoy?”

“Oh, no, what has that brat done? Did he drop one of them? I've told him not to carry them like that!”

If it weren't for your interest in hearing what the minister had to say about you, you would have made your presence known and protested.

“No, ma'am,” he answered. “I'm simply curious about his job performance and attitude.”

“I'd say he does the best he can in a job he has no passion for,” she told him. “Minister, please, move him. I don't care where, just take me off babysitting duty. We all know that's what this is. I've been running my department, by myself, for a little over a decade. Do you know how many grateful Beings I've met over the years? Beings who are damn grateful for the job I do? Let me inform you, some of these memories are horrifying. Some of them are utterly confusing to the point I get literal headaches. There's more to this job than just sticking my head in a cauldron, watching a scene, and then, writing the labels down. There's more to it than owling people on occasion.”

“Madam Tolansky, I have a great deal of respect for the job you do. If I've ever-”

“You sound sincere enough,” she interrupted. “But other people don't. That's fine, as long as they stay out of my way. I'm able to handle this job by myself, and unless there becomes a pressing need, that's how I prefer it. And if I ever do need more people, I'd appreciate someone who isn't thrown at me because some soft-hearted higher-up, no offence, Minister, decided they needed a chance at redemption.”

“We've been considered reassigning Mister Malfoy for some time. He's been respectful towards you? He hasn't called you any derogatory terms?”

“He does his job, and he's not openly rude. He's also a pompous little brat who clearly thinks my job isn't important. No, I haven't been called mudblood or anything relating to my stepfather's Irish background. He did call me a 'mental old bat who can't distinguish her own reality from others' when he presumably thought I couldn’t hear him, but don't hold that against him. I've said the same thing almost word-for-word about every boss besides former Minister Fudge I've ever had. Again, no offence is intended, Minister. I've made my position on your ideas for expanding hypocritical Weasley's department clear.”

“Yes, Madam, you have,” the minister said with a sigh. “You and Mr Bashir both.”

You slipped away.

In the hallway, you saw the Weasley twins throwing snowballs. One of them hit Thomas when he was carrying an over-sized teddy bear.

0

“Malfoy!”

“Hello, Potter. Come to harass-”

“Just keep her detained!”

He was gone before you could respond, and you found yourself staring an eerie-looking child. You would later learn she was half-elf, half-goblin and had blown up a building.

Everyone else was elsewhere.

Aware how badly stunning, tying up, or body-binding a child would make you look, you promptly searched your memory, remembered many children were quite fond of sweets, and said, “If you behave until he gets back, I'll take you to the cafeteria and buy you dessert.”

She smiled.

In the cafeteria, you bought her a package of raspberry ice mice and watched icicles grow from her nose and ears with every bite.

“Excuse me,” a voice said. You looked up to see a black-haired woman with green eyes. “I'm looking for-” She looked down. “Well, actually, I'm not- Here's what I want: Authorisation to carry gillyweed out of country. Could you help me or direct me to someone who could?”

Nodding, you stood and said to the child, “Come on, Eldritch Abomination. I'll buy you another package, and we can help her find what she's looking for.”

The child bared her red-stained fangs but complied.

"Thank you,” the woman said. She looked unsure if she should laugh or not. “I'm Astoria Greengrass.” She offered her hand to both of you. “I graduated two- no, three- years before you.”

“Draco Malfoy,” you answered. “I suppose you knew that, though.”

“My sister was in your year,” she answered. “Daphne. During her fourth year, she had the hugest case of puppy love for you.”

“I always thought she fancied Zabini.”

“No, he scared her,” she answered. “All those stories of his mother, you know.”

The child poked you with one of her nails.

Gesturing to her, you said, “This creature- For some reason, a person apparently thought my being proof-reader in the legal department qualified me to handle violent, pint-sized criminals.”

"I can't comment on the violent or criminal part, but she looks to be the right size to me,” Astoria said. “She'll probably grow up to be taller than both of us.”

This earned her a smile much less mischievous than the one you had received.

"Gillyweed?”

“I'm an aqua marizoologist,” she answered. The three of you stopped when a desk charged through the hallway with an inexplicably green, scaly wizard in pursuit. “Mostly self-funded by my inheritance, but I've gotten a few articles published. To make a long story short, if what some contacts have told me is correct, I'm hoping my trip to Israel will result in enough publicity that will put me on the radar of the larger aquatic community.”

You arrived at the appropriate office, and you hesitated for a moment. “I hope to be hearing about you soon, then.” 

She smiled. “I might stop by to tell you about my trip. Thank you.”

Before you could respond, you heard, “Malfoy! What are you playing at? I thought we were going to have to do a lockdown,” Potter hissed.

You found yourself annoyed both by his interruption and the fact seeing him and Astoria in close proximity only highlighted how similar many of their features were and demanded, “Potter, tell me, was it leaving a Being of ambiguous species who apparently broke a law under the supervision of a proof-reader or was it leaving a child of ambiguous magical ability with a person who once tried to not only perform an unforgivable cure on you but also plotted an assassination attempt that you thought was the appropriate action of an auror? I gave her sweets and took her for a walk while I helped a person find the department they were looking for. Considering that neither of us is dead, I would say I more than handled a situation I wasn't equipped to.”  

0

Two months later, Astoria said, “Hello, again. Mind if I sit down?”

You motioned for her to do so and swallowed your food. “Did your trip to Israel help you get more recognition?”

Grinning, she showed you a newspaper article detailing her discovering proof of a new breed of sea lions. It mentioned the Scamander family had taken an interest in sponsoring her on a trip to Russia. “I met with them last weekend,” she told you. “Very odd family, but they're nice.”

"Did you meet Luna Lovegood-Scamander?”

Nodding, she asked, “Classmate of yours?”

"Year younger, Ravenclaw,” you answered. “She was held hostage in my basement for several months during her sixth year.”

“I imagine it's a good thing I didn't mention you, then,” Astoria remarked. Seeing how startled you were by her reaction, she shrugged and gave you a wry smile. “People are still giving Daphne a hard time for being part of some club that Umbridge set up. Granted, the two are very, very different, but I've yet to meet a teenager who hasn't made bad choices. A lot of people refuse to look at the context, and heaven help any Slytherin who was somewhat public in what they did.”

“Why did Green- your sister join the Inquisitorial Squad?”

“Because all the housemates she admired were in it. You, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, some Quidditch boy. And unlike most of the professors, Umbridge didn't forbid her from adding pink to her uniform and wearing sparkly hair clips.”

You looked down into your glass and saw Umbridge putting sashes on you and the others. Her cloying giggles filled your head.

"She seemed to be happy,” Astoria continued. “Although, I think I might have offended her when I told a story about a herbologist I once knew.”

“What did you say?”

“Her husband and I were talking about a new breakthrough by a herbologist in Nepal, and I mentioned that I'd met a herbologist in Alaska. Brilliant woman, but she had the most dreadful memory towards everyday life I'd ever seen and could barely take two steps without inevitably falling down.”

“You didn't,” you told her. “She once dated someone who loved herbology. When he was younger, he fit that description dead-on.”

“Thank you for helping me that day,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

Finishing your lunch, you nodded. “Could I buy you dinner?”

Sighing, she answered, “No. I'm sorry. I do like you, but well, the truth is, you plotted an assassination and, for all I know, you still hold ideas on blood superiority.”

You told yourself you were not going to have a repeat of your history with Potter. You had learned to handle rejection without making an enemy out of the person. “Good luck on your next adventure, then. If you ever write a book, send me a signed copy.”

She grinned. “Thanks, again. For everything.”

0

"The Greengrasses are a very old pureblood family,” Father said.

He lost more of his subtlety each time Astoria was mentioned.

“Not for long,” you answered. “Her younger sister is going to marry a muggle in three months, and he's going to take her name.”

“Lucius,” Mother said, “leave Draco alone. He needs friends more than he does a romantic partner.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you said.

Father sighed, and you almost said something to try to cheer him up. The realisation you had no idea what would stopped you.

You used to think your father was one of the smartest men in the world. You didn't have to understand things, you just had to listen to him because he couldn't possibly be fundamentally wrong about anything important.

Then, however, you found yourself crying and trying to cast the killing spell while knowing with everything inside you what you were doing was something which could never be undone but had to be done if it meant you and your family seeing another day.

His choices put you in such a situation.

Sometimes, you occasionally dreamed about Arthur and Molly Weasley, nameless, faceless muggle parents, and the squib caretaker at Hogwarts, and you woke up sick. A long time ago, it was funny seeing frozen statues of people (a part of you wished you could be frozen so you didn't have to deal with exams), and though you knew what death was, the thought of Granger and the like dying wasn't anything like facing the reality of people like her dying turned out to be.

You knew you couldn't blame everything on your father, but you did blame him for many things. Among his bad choice was raising you to live in a non-existent world.

"Hello, dear,” Mother said, and you looked up to see Astoria had flooed in.

“Mrs Malfoy,” she said. After kissing Mother's cheek, she added, “Hello, Mr Malfoy.”

Father gave a curt nod.  

0

The day everything changed started normally.

You and Astoria were having lunch at the ministry and talking about an argument she got into with a merchild (personally, you found yourself agreeing the merchild) when an alarm shrilled throughout the room.

"Potter!”

Before you could get more than a few steps, however, you remembered Astoria and turned. “No! Don't try to apparate.” Grabbing her hand, you led her through the panicking cafeteria. “We're in lockdown. Anyone who tries apparating will be splinched.”

"What in the hell kind of policy is that,” she demanded.

“It started under Scrimgeour,” you explained. “The theory was that, in the event of an attack, only the guilty would try to make a quick escape. I imagine Kingsley forgot about it.”

“If we manage to survive this, I will be sending an extremely angry howler!” She stunned a nearby werewolf. “Here, go on. I have to make sure no one hurts her. If she's an employee or just a visitor-”

“She's wearing a dark red band around her left arm,” you pointed out. Pressing against the wall when a pack of frenzied owls flew past, you quickly conjured a glass ball to surround them and froze it in place.

“Why are snatchers apparently running around?”

“The same reason my father donned his death eater uniform and terrorised muggles at the World Quidditch Cup.” You sighed when you came across a familiar janitor closet. Putting Astoria to the side with her back against the wall, you rapped on the door. “Tolansky, if you're in there, don't attack.”

You found her in a defensive position on the floor with a notebook clutched against her chest. Taking note of her broken wand next to a small puddle of blood, you were relieved to see she didn’t appear to be bleeding herself.

"They wanted a penseive,” she bleakly informed you. “I had to destroy it.”

“I'm sure you did the right thing,” Astoria said.

You levitated Catalina.

“No!” She tried kicking and hitting you. “I have to protect them.”

You asked Astoria, “Can you carry her?”

Nodding, she pointed her wand. “I've got her. Silencio,” she added when Catalina opened her mouth. “Where are we going?”

"Department of Mysteries,” you answered. Stunning a Snatcher who was about to attack a person whose back was turned, you explained, “That's where they evacuate.”

“Malfoy,” the person you saved said, “they took Auror Longbottom.”

“Of course, they did,” you replied. “What about Potter?”

“I don't know.”

The four of you made it to the Department of Mysteries, and two mediwitches immediately came over to take Catalina.

“Go,” you told Astoria. “I have to find Potter.”

Nodding, she kissed you on the cheek. “Good luck.”

You watched a security check being performed. After it was done, she grabbed a cauldron several people were holding. They all vanished, and you left.

0

Later, you sat in the flat Astoria shared with Daphne and Frisk, Daphne's fiancé, while the couple was out. “I need a different job,” you declared.

Despite not being hurt in the slightest, your parents had forced you to go to St. Mungo's. There, Catalina had assaulted you, loudly declared everything your fault, and called you a traitor.

Thankfully, Kingsley had gotten it cleared up her issue was the fact several penseives had been destroyed after you and Astoria forcibly escorted her to safety, but you weren't optimistic everyone would pay attention to those facts.

Then, a pregnant Luna Lovegood-Scamander had appeared in the hospital via a phoenix. When you left, she was still sitting with the two Mrs Longbottoms and a goblin who seemed to be a friend of Augusta Longbottom's. Neville Longbottom was still missing, and none of the captured Snatchers would reveal why or where he'd been taken.  

It turned out Potter had left to have lunch with his family about ten minutes before the attack.

Astoria gave you an odd smile. “Feel free to tell me to sod off, but how long have you been in love with Harry Potter?”

"Since before I knew he was Harry Potter,” you answered.

Leaning back, she said, “It's okay. I'm pretty sure I'm asexual.”

"You think you're a fungus?”

Laughing, she answered, “No.” More seriously, she explained, “The thing is, I've dated wizards and witches both. I've fancied them all, enjoyed snogging them, and even fell head over heels for a few of them. There were two I think I was genuinely in love with. But the idea of sex- It doesn't do anything for me. It didn't have anything to do with them. Like I said, I really liked kissing.”

"Deal breaker?”

“In the end,” she answered. “I tried having an open relationship with a few of them, but that never worked. Most of them fell for someone else. One of them got a girl pregnant and wanted to abandon her, he blamed me. I came dangerously close to using an unforgivable,” she said.

You could see the man's twisted logic, and you could see yourself at a younger, crueller age doing the same thing. Thank Merlin you had never had a sexual interest in Pansy, you thought. The furthest the two of you ever went was a few stolen kisses. Mostly, it was handholding and cuddling.

"What about the two of us?”

She sighed. “Draco, you-”

"My views on blood purity have changed considerably.”

“You pity half-breeds.”

“I do,” you acknowledged. “And so do you. Everyone who isn't hopelessly naïve does. I don't hate them, Astoria. I don't think their existence should be banned. But yes, I do question whether their parents truly understand the potential consequences of their actions.”

“And your parents?”

“I love them, but I know who I used to be,” you answered. “Astoria- I'm not going to keep apologising all my life. I want to live my as best I can. And I'd like to see if you could be a permanent part of it. We understand each other.”

She looked thoughtful. “If we get married and have a child, if they bring home a different Being and talk about having a half-breed, there will be words if you aren't supportive. And I refuse to have my children spanked or cursed.”

"I agree with that,” you reminded her. “As for being supportive, I will as long as our child is treated properly. If they bring home someone who doesn't appreciate them, dark magic will come into play.”

“No arguments from me,” she said.

Then, she leaned over and kissed you.

0

"Longbottom was found,” a goblin clerk with a rather large head wound informed you. “But he's catatonic. There's evidence the torture curse was employed. This is most inconvenient. If that old woman does something foolish, Bornuk is sure to follow, and he still owes me eight knuts. Also, we're out of your coffee.”

“Shouldn't you still be in-”

“No! It's only a bruise. It'll heal on its own. Now, if you'll excuse me, if I have to bite Elliot's ankles, he will have those domestication papers for the Hogwarts thestrals renewed by ten this morning.”

The clerk stormed off but quickly found himself being intercepted and carted away by Ginny Potter and Hermione Granger-Weasley. “I shall report you both to the discrimination division! I have the right to refuse medical treatment!”

Since Granger-Weasley essentially was the discrimination division and Ginny Potter didn't actually work at the ministry, you were unsurprised at how non-seriously they took his protests.

There was a noise, and you looked over.

Oliver Wood and George Weasley were forcibly leading Percy Weasley towards a fireplace. “Now, now, Perce, you haven't been to Mungo's, yet,” Weasley said.

"Because I was in Australia when the attack happened!”

“Oh, dear,” Weasley said. “He's making logical points and talking sense. Worse than we thought, it is.”

“Wood-”

Looking genuinely uncomfortable, Wood nevertheless said, “I'm sorry, Percy, but I'm with your brother on this one.”     

Whatever the story was, you never found out due to an unshaven, hospital gown-clad Neville Longbottom suddenly apparating in. He looked around and spotted you. “Malfoy, what's going on?”

0

On the day of your wedding, you found yourself looking at Dumbledore. He was wandless, his eyes were kind and pitying, his face was lined with deep wrinkles, and one hand was horribly deformed.

"Let me help you, Draco,” the memory said.

Before then, none of the other memories had gotten to a point where they spoke.

"You did,” you said. “Thank you.”

The memory vanished.

0

You found Professor Longbottom getting pissed at the Leaky Cauldron. Blinking away the memory of the two of you at seventeen, you told the server, “No more for him.” Sitting down, you asked, “Which one asked for the divorce?”

He shrugged. “Don't know,” was the curt reply. “Don't you dare say I don't love her, Malfoy. I do.”

"You can love more than one person,” you answered.

“She wants children,” he said. “I do, too, but not enough.”

His parents were only his parents for a little over a year, and he was subjected to the curse responsible for taking them away. He came through, got a safer job, and was probably put under some sort of protection they didn't have. You couldn't blame him for deciding not to risk leaving children fatherless.

Still, you doubted this was all.

"If Lovegood had wanted children, what would you have done?”

“Luna has Lorcan and Lysander,” he pointed out. “I send Lysander plants. His room at his grandparents' is an actual nursery. And I send Lorcan whatever she tells me he wants. He's closer to Hannah. Lysander likes to paint the walls when they visit. He painted Hannah a beautiful-”

“With you, you dolt.”

“Well,” he said, “that was before the Snatchers came.”

He signalled for another, and you glared the server away. “Try to imagine this, Longbottom: You and Hannah get divorced. She marries someone else, has babies. Lovegood returns, also divorced. She wants to have a child with you. What do you do?”

After a moment of silence, he said, “The second part would never happen.”

Scoffing, you wrote a message and handed it to a nearby server along with some money. “Send an owl to Auror and Mrs Potter.”

"Yes, sir.”

As the server left, you said, “You've gotten good at talk, Longbottom. But that's all it is. It'd never happen, but deep down, both you and Hannah know what the answer would be.”

"It could be the drink, but what you're implying is that I'm willing to put children I had with Luna in danger but I'm not willing to have children to put in danger with Hannah. And somehow, that makes me more in love with Luna.”

“Your current wife can't convince you, Longbottom. Your ex-girlfriend could convince you of anything, and I'd wager a lot she still could. More than that, I bet even those pitiful boys realise it, too. It's the unacknowledged fact that, until now, you and everyone else has danced around.”

He ignored you and tried to get another refill.

The one thing Longbottom could never be was the villain. Lovegood had left him due to her own issues, and he'd moved on. Hannah Abbott had known he'd had unresolved issues, and she'd believed she could handle it. Perhaps, she had them, too.

Lovegood could never be the villain, either.

It left an incredibly effed up situation you were watching unfold. There was nothing pleasurable about it, and some part of you feared for your own marriage. You loved Astoria and found her beautiful, funny, and full of power.

Even if you hated her, you'd have to respect her.

Yet, some part of you still dreamed of a bespectacled man, and sometimes, the insecurity she had married you because you were the one person who genuinely didn't have issues with her asexuality reared up.

Looking murderous, Potter arrived.

“All yours.” You paid Longbottom's tab.

0

It took six tries for conception to take place.

You'd suggested trying ways not involving consummation, but unless it was absolutely necessary, Astoria didn't want the story to be Mummy and Daddy wanted a baby, and so, Daddy went to a private room, filled a cup, and a doctor put some of the contents into Mummy. It was unlikely the child would be asexual, and she wasn't sure she wanted them to know she was.

Finally, she came in with news. “I'm six weeks, and we're having a boy.”

"Let's not tell Father until the baby actually arrives,” was your first response.

You reached over to place your hand on her stomach.

0

Two hours after Astoria said, “I'm in labour,” you were holding your son.

He was a tiny, squirmy creature who made odd faces and had a tendency to poke his tongue out. He had your eyes, no hair, and Astoria's ears.

You looked down at him, and some part of you thought there must have been a mistake. Out of all the things you'd done, both good and bad, creating human life had never been one of them. What did you know about fatherhood? You still sometimes struggled with the concept of marriage and being a husband.

Nevertheless, he was your child, and you found yourself crying when you held him. For better or worse, you and Astoria had created a human being who was tiny, helpless, and needed the two of you. Aside from a soft crib and his mother's breast, he'd eventually need someone to teach him to take pride in himself without being arrogant, to stand up for himself without bringing other people down, and to have empathy and connect with people beyond surrounding himself with those who would obey mindlessly. 

Mother sat down, kissed you, and put a comforting arm around you. “Congratulations, sweetheart. He's beautiful, just like you were.”

"I don't know if I can do this,” you said while your son slept. “No one ever explicitly told me that having a baby literally meant that you helped create a human being and were responsible for keeping him safe and happy and making sure he didn't do horrible things.”

Yes, you were babbling worse than Longbottom.

The second part?

You didn't particularly care. If there were ever a reason to babble, you would argue, to your last breath, if necessary, holding an infant you were in charge of for seventeen years and possibly for the rest of your life would be it.

"I imagine people assumed you could connect the dots on your own,” she wryly responded. Tightening her grip, she told you, “Draco, it's okay. Not that I ever regret it, but your father and I weren't emotionally ready when we had you. We were young and hadn't figured out who we were. You know who you are, darling, and Astoria knows who she is. You have one another, and together, you're going to raise your child better than you were raised. I promise you, you and he will be better than you and your father were.”

You desperately hoped so.

Looking at your sleeping boy, you saw a future of him laughing and playing with other children, one day bringing another person home, happy and in love, working a job he loved, and going as high as he wanted.

You weren't naïve. He'd occasionally misbehave, there'd be people he simply didn't get along with for whatever reason, and there would be heartbreaks in his life. However, you wanted him to be a better person and have a happier, better life than you were and did growing up, and if you could, you’d find a way to achieve this.

0

You and Astoria ran into Lovegood and Longbottom while walking around Diagon Alley with a sleeping Scorpius in your arms.

"Hello,” Astoria said. “How's the baby doing?”

In his arms, Longbottom held one of the boys. You had trouble visually differentiating the two but imagined it was Lysander. From what you knew, Lorcan spent the majority of his time travelling with his father while his brother stayed with Lovegood.

"Very well, thank you,” Luna answered. Her hands wrapped around her stomach. “Neville doesn't want to know the gender until the baby comes, but I'm confident it's a little girl. She's going to have his eyes.”

“Mummy's glad me and Lorcan have her eyes instead of Rolf's,” Lysander piped up. “She wanted us to have her eyes and his hair, but she wants our sister to have her hair and Neville's eyes.”

As always, you never knew what to make of Lysander referring to his father by name. Lorcan didn't call either parent by their name. No one seemed to object to Lysander doing so. From what you could see, he didn't have any problems with his father nor his father with him.

Years ago, Abbott had had a little girl, and a boy soon followed. From what you'd seen, she and her family still adored Longbottom and he them. It was bizarre, but one had only to look at his girlfriend and her two sons to know bizarreness seemed to be the element he was most comfortable in.

"Is your trip to the Nile still on schedule,” Luna asked.

Astoria nodded. “I leave on Wednesday. Thankfully, we've finally gotten authorisation to transport live samples via...”

00

Kneeling down, you say, "Owl us in the morning.”

Scorpius nods. “It'll be fine, Dada. You're worrying too much.”

"That's his job,” Astoria says. She leans down to kiss him. “Be good, baby. Say hi to Professor Longbottom, and we'd better not get an owl informing us you've been hexing or otherwise bothering Rose.”

“I don't see you giving the same lecture to her,” he mutters. Then, he grins. “I love you both, and I'll be sure to send kisses with the letter. Only, don't tell anyone, alright?”

“Of course not,” you promise. Standing up, you see Potter, and the two of you share a nod.

You hug Scorpius.

It's not exactly a memory you see, but you imagine yourself being cold, haughty, and refusing to look out at your parents while boarding the train with Crabbe and Goyle following you.

Then, Scorpius is boarding the train, and you see him shaking the hands of James and Albus Potter, helping a freckled girl with her luggage, and laughing at something.

As the train starts to pull away, you hold Astoria's hand while Scorpius sticks his head out and calls, “Bye! I love you!”

Out of all the memories you have seen and will see, you desperately hope this hauntingly hopeful, happy one will manifest someday.


End file.
